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THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY
HOLLOW
By WASHINGTON IRVING I N a sequestered cove of the Hudson lies the drowsy valley of Sleepy Hollow-once a remote, enchanted region, abounding in haunted spots and twilight superstitions. The dreamy, visionary Dutch folk, descendants of the early settlers, were given to marvelous beliefs. Many were their fireside tales of ghosts and evil spirits. The most awesome wraith of this bewitched neighborhood was a headless figure on a powerful black charger, which at midnight rode forth from the church graveyard. At every country fireside were told blood-curdling stories of the weird and ghoulish pranks of this headless horseman of Sleepy Hollow. Perhaps the most superstitious soul through-out the valley, in the days just following the Revolution, was the country schoolmaster, Ichabod Crane. Tall, lank, long-limbed, he was a grotesque figure, yet not lacking in conceit. As was the custom he led an itinerant life, boarding with the farmers whose children he taught. Since he brought the local gossip and helped with the chores, his periodical visitations were welcomed by the housewives. He also enlivened the long wintry evening with direful stories of witchcraft. In a snug chimney corner before a crackling wood fire there was fearsome pleasure in these blood-chilling tales. But for this gruesome enjoyment, how dearly he paid when out alone at night ! What menacing shadows beset his path ! Every snow-covered bush stood a sheeted specter in his way. However, it was not only these phantoms of the night that disturbed his peace, for his days were haunted by the most bewitching of all witches-a woman. In his weekly singing class was Katrina Van Tassel, only child of a substantial farmer. Famed for her beauty and vast expectations, the enraptured Ichabod became her ardent suitor. Gloatingly he surveyed her father's rich meadowlands, the overflowing barns, and the great, sloping-roofed farm-house filled with treasure of old mahogany, pewter, and silver. All these rich possessions made Ichabod covet the peerless Katrina. The most formidable of his many rivals was the roistering Brom Van Brunt, nick-named, from his Herculean frame, Brom Bones. He was the hero of all the country round, which rang with his feats of strength and hardihood. A reckless horseman and fore-most in all rural sports, he was always ready for a fight or a frolic. Yet even the old dames, startled out of their sleep as he clattered by at midnight, looked upon his wild pranks with more good-will than disfavor. This rantipole hero had chosen to lay siege to the blooming Katrina. And when on a Sunday night his horse was tied to Van Tassel's palings all other suitors passed on in despair. Ichabod, however, in his role of singing-master, made frequent visits at the farm. Neither old Van Tassel, an easy, indulgent soul, nor his busy housewife interfered with the pedagogue's suit; yet his wooing was beset with difficulties. Brom Bones had declared a deadly feud, and as Ichabod shrewdly avoided a physical combat, he became the object of whimsical persecutions by Brom and his boon companions. They smoked out his singing school, broke into and turned topsy-turvy his schoolhouse, and, still worse, taught a scoundrel dog to whine as a rival instructor in psalmody to the fair Katrina. One fine autumnal afternoon Ichabod, in a pensive mood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool from which he ruled his laggard pupils. The buzzing stillness of the school-room was broken by a galloping messenger, who brought an invitation to a "quilting frolic" that evening at Van Tassel's. Promptly dismissing school, Ichabod furbished up his only suit of rusty black, and soon rode forth-a gallant cavalier to this bidding of his lady fair. Gunpowder, the bony old plow-horse, borrowed from the farmer with whom Ichabod was domiciled, was a suitable steed for hiP long, gaunt frame. Jogging slowly along, it was after sundown when he reached Van Tassel's, where were gathered the farmer folk of the surrounding country. However, it was not the buxom lasses which held Ichabod enthralled; it was the sumptuous abundance of the supper-table. Such luscious ham and chicken, and heaping platters of doughnuts, crullers, and ginger cakes! Ichabod's rapacious appetite did ample justice to this repast, while he gloated over the opulence of which some day he might be master. Soon the sound of fiddling bade all to the dance. With Katrina as his partner, smiling graciously at his amorous oglings, the lank but agile Ichabod clattered triumphantly about, while Brom Bones, sorely smitten with jealousy, kept broodingly aloof. Later, Ichabod joined the sager folk, who sat smoking and spinning tales of ghosts and apparitions, and of the headless horseman that nightly tethered his steed among the churchyard graves. Most terrifying were the adventures of those who, on dark nights, had met that gruesome specter. Even Brom Bones testified that once, overtaken by the midnight trooper, he had raced with him to the church bridge, where the horseman had vanished in a flash of fire. When at a late hour the revel broke up Ichabod lingered for the customary lovers' talk. What passed at that interview with the heiress was never known, but when he finally sallied forth it was with a dejected, chopfallen air. Had Katrina's encouragement been only a coquettish trick to secure her conquest of his rival? It was near the witching midnight hour that the crestfallen Ichabod pursued his solitary travel homeward. All the stories of ghosts and goblins told that evening now crowded hauntingly upon him. The night grew deeper and darker as he approached the lonely churchyard-sombrous scene of many of the tales. Suddenly through the leaf-stirred stillness came the clatter of hoofs! Something huge and misshapen loomed above the crouching shadows. In quaking terror Ichabod dashed ahead, but the unknown followed close. Then the moonlight, through a rafting cloud, revealed the headless horseman ! More ghastly still, his head rested on the pommel of his saddle ! Away they flew, Ichabod madly spurring Gunpowder, while the sinister horseman came galloping after. As they reached the haunted road, turning off to Sleepy Hollow, the girth of Ichabod's saddle broke. Gripping his steed around the neck, as the saddle slipped from beneath him, he still plunged on, with the ghostly rider pursuing him. The church bridge, where in Brom Bones's tale the specter had vanished, was just ahead. Another moment and old Gunpowder was thundering over the resounding planks. Here Ichabod, casting a backward glance, saw the goblin rising in his stirrups and in the very act of hurling his head. The horrible missile crashed against Ichabod's cranium and he plunged headlong into the road-while Gunpowder and the ghostly horseman swept on. The next morning the old horse was found, saddleless, grazing at his master's gate. But no Ichabod! In the road by the church was found the saddle. Farther on was the trampled hat of the unfortunate pedagogue-and close beside it a shattered pumpkin ! The whole neighborhood was aroused. Brom Bones's story and all the other weird tales were called to mind, and the good folk sagely concluded that Ichabod had been carried off by the headless horseman. Soon the school was removed to a less haunted section. Another pedagogue reigned, and Ichabod became only a legend. It is true that several years later an old farmer, returning from New York, brought news that Ichabod was still alive; that fear of the goblin and chagrin at his dismissal by the heiress had caused his flight; that in another part of the country he had taught school, studied law, and become justice of the Ten-pound Court. Brom Bones, who, shortly after his rival's disappearance, had led the blooming Katrina to the altar, was observed to look exceedingly knowing whenever the story of Ichabod was related. At the mention of the pumpkin he never failed to laugh heartily, which led some to suspect that he knew more about the matter than he chose to disclose. The old country wives, however, maintain to this day that Ichabod was spirited away by the headless horseman. And many gruesome tales of the pedagogue's fate are still told round the wintry firesides of Sleepy Hollow. |